How I Came To Jesus On Global Warming

In the days long before the plane hit the Pentagon, I rode a little minibus every morning that let me off at the massive building’s south entrance, flashed my badge at the door, and began a long navigation of bland hallways.

In the basement, a purple water fountain steered visitors to ballistic missile defense offices. A display case stuffed with cute model satellites led to an Air Force hallway, and the nearest men’s room sported “I’m not Fonda Jane” urinal stickers.

It was 1992. I was a 23-year-old engineer working for a research firm at the Pentagon, where the air was thick with disdain for hippies like Fonda and anxiety about the end of the Cold War. I made lots of viewgraphs just the right shade of Air Force blue, ordered donuts for meetings, and wrote computer code.

And just like everyone else I worked with, I thought global warming was pure crap, a punchline to punctuate the occasional warm day in January.